Setting Sun
by heartsans
Summary: Noatak was the favorite for more than one reason. trigger warning for childhood sexual abuse and one sided incest


_(note: I wrote this with no intention of making the content sexual or romantic, and I apologize profusely if this fanfic ends up triggering you. If this subject matter is too repulsive, please don't read it.)_

_**Setting Sun**_

* * *

_Mo(u?)ning_

Noatak was the favorite for more than one reason.

The brothers slept in a separate tent from their father during their trips far from the village, and when Tarrlok slept, he would press an index finger on his forehead, paralyzing his body in case he would wake too soon. This took intense concentration, and he felt the in and out of his brother's breath as he snuck into the opposite tent, eyes taking in nothing. He memorized the stir of veins and pumping of blood, how the child slept like a corpse, reclining with the rigidity of a soldier. And Noatak, fixating on the heat and slumber, fell into a mechanical daze as he undressed his lower half, high ponytail undone to assume more feminine appearance.

His father entered him with little noise nor ceremony, avoiding his lips; avoiding gently brushing his hands on anywhere else other than the pelt that covered the snow. Yakone always prepared him prior, one small mercy, and as wrong and repulsive the act was, Noatak grew amused by how boring the whole thing became. Always the same position. Always the same silence. No kisses; clearly his father had no intention to disguise the act as anything warmer or kinder than it actually was.

The beaming praise of his skills, however, told a different story. Yakone touched him then, palms possessive on his shoulders, ignoring the hollow eyes of his son. And Tarrlok, in his precious ignorance, frowned in envy and shivered in concern, wondering why his brother died, replaced by this silhouette of a stranger. He couldn't tell him how he had memorized the way he breathed in his sleep, the comfort of his rest distracting how his body trembled and burned. At least Yakone never laid a hand on him.

Had he even tried, he was certain he would kill the man and bloodbend the fluids right out of his pores. But that moment never arrived.

When he left and called his brother weak, it was the biggest lie he had ever told, larger than his eventual new identity, larger than deluding himself into the justness of his cause. Tarrlok was the strongest person he had ever known, to not have broken away from kindness in the face of cruelty. As young as he was, his beliefs were as firm as the ground beneath them. He would never bloodbend his brother. He'd never hurt anyone without feeling remorse, a resolve that Noatak left behind ages ago, along with his innocence.

He ran. He called his brother weak, in hopes to sow hatred under muscle and bone and pumping heart. If Tarrlok grew to hate him, it would be easier on them both.

But he knew the younger would never be capable of such a thing.

* * *

_Noon_

Tarrlok grew into his features. His strong brows were appealing on his face, jawline masculine, body still solid and grounded despite how tattered his attire became. Was that the reason why Yakone never touched him? Even in youth his brother's face was wider, Noatak's eyebrows thin and woman-like, shoulders taking some time to grow less compact. Stress and sorrow aged Tarrlok significantly, rendering him almost older, wearier.

It took him all the strength in the world not to hold him right there and then when he failed to bloodbend him, crushing him in a needy embrace, met with fear instead of open arms. In the younger's moment of terror, Noatak recalled his body's stillness, how his wish to keep his burden to himself still granted, after all those years.

He was beautiful, a flower plucked in full bloom and left in the shade to die. And Noatak, stained in the memory of his abuse, felt little disgust left as he entertained the thought of running his fingers through the man's hair, stealing a wrong kiss in the dead of night. Fantasies were fine, so long as he never indulged them.

His brother rotted in his cell and shot him hateful glances, but kept his silence, not bothering to blow his cover from his subordinates in a final act of protection. Noatak's heart sank into stone and sea, the memory of his brother's love worse than any other burden life had ever given him.

* * *

_Dusk_

"I should have left you when we were boys."

That would have been nice. He settled for the sentiment, which was all he could really have received anyway.

"Leave with me now. We have a second chance. We can start over together. Please, you're all I have left in the world."

Tarrlok's face held no glimmer of hope, but he followed him regardless, footsteps soft and accepting. Noatak knew he was being unreasonable; to have hideous feelings that cut like barbed wire, or chewing shards of glass. Starting over a new leaf would never happen, so he chose to be selfish one last time and turned around to face his brother.

"Noatak?"

The kiss was ungainly and foolish, desperate hands taking hold of his brother's chin, the man freezing at the touch. When he parted from him, regret came swift and merciless, but Tarrlok said nothing.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have."

He turned around. Tarrlok didn't reply.

* * *

_Sunset_

They reached the outskirts of the city away from the commotion, a boat tucked away where the trees ended and the ocean began.

"This wasn't the first time this happened to me, though back then it was the other way around."

Noatak faced the sea, half wishing his brother would not understand.

Silence grew like a barrier between them, interrupted only by the chirping of birds. Tarrlok made a noise like the wounded creature that he was.

"No..."

The trauma faded years ago, but the wounds quickly reopened, its sting as sharp as ever.

"I didn't want to tell you. You were unhappy enough."

He approached Noatak and saw the dullness of his visage, tears glistening as the clouds grew rosy and kind.

"Is… is that why your eyes were so dead? Is that why father… why father… looked at you that way… no."

Tarrlok was shaking now, inconsolable as he embraced his brother, and Noatak returned the gesture, fighting the ache in his throat.

"Stop, it's alright. We'll be alright."

* * *

_Nightfall_

"It will be just like the good old days."

For a moment, it truly was good and grand, a burden lifted, the reunion bittersweet, if far too brief.

This would do.


End file.
